


Summer Soldier

by Remember When (scribblemyname)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Crossover, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6645352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/Remember%20When
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan has known the betrayer and the betrayed. She will not leave him trapped in Winter here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/gifts).



> I fully wanted to write you plottiness as you requested. It totally didn't happen. Sorry.

His skin is warm and feverish, but Susan tries to ignore it as she bandages his wounds and promises that her own sister will come soon. She has nothing to bring down the unnatural heat and can only rely on the backup she sent her horse for.

"Lucy can heal even this," she says softly to the fallen soldier she has found.

He stares at her with eyes as cold as the winter nights before the White Witch fell. "No one can heal this," he whispers. "Let me die."

But she doesn't let him die. She cannot, she will not, and she says so.

* * *

He does not give his name, this fallen soldier with winter in his eyes. He stands at the balcony in Cair Paravel, his flesh arm tied in an expert sling by Lucy, his metal hand resting on the railing as if he could not crush it by merely closing his fingers.

"Thank you, my lady," he tells her when he sees her. He sees her quickly, missing little, impossible to sneak up on.

Susan can hear the underlying acid in his tone. Were she still a schoolchild from England, perhaps she would cross her arms and reply snippily as she still does occasionally to her own brothers when they are spiteful with their tongues. Instead she acts as the lady he has called her.

"It is not worthy of a warrior to demand cruelty from a lady," she replies archly.

The dismissal in his gaze vanishes. He stares at her for a long moment, then turns back to stare out at the Narnian forest. "Would you save a snake, for it to bite you when it is well?"

Susan stares at the arm, the way his fingers keep wanting to clench, but he flattens them against the wood. She steps forward to look out on Narnia beside him.

"This is my country," she says. "I am queen."

He glances at her, hair falling in his eyes as he turns.

She gestures at the green woods, the sparkling water of the harbor. "When I came here it was winter, always winter and never Christmas." She intones it like the children's tale she invokes. "The White Witch ruled this land and turned my brother traitor."

She turns to him now, looks at him with all the unreserve and lifted chin of the queen she is. "You will not live in winter here, nor will you find us helpless before your pain."

She should give him room to answer. It would be a kindness. But he has challenged her, and she will not wait to hear him give excuses for his disagreement, any more than she'd ever sit still for Edmund when he felt inclined to do the same. She gathers her skirts and moves on to leave him to his brooding.

* * *

He does not give his name. "I am the soldier."

It means something in the world he has fallen from, in the snow-covered land that frosted his brow and gave him the arm and covered his body in a dozen cuts that could have, _should_ have, killed him. It means little in Narnia, but Peter nods his agreement in his usual practical, accepting fashion.

"Very well, soldier. I am King Peter and this is my brother, King Edmund."

Susan watches the soldier's eyes turn assessing and figures he is deciding which one was once a traitor and is no longer. She watches those eyes become difficult to read when Peter gestures at her.

"Queen Susan, the Gentle, and Queen Lucy, the Valiant. My sisters."

He is not rude in manner or bearing. He gives his own small bow to their royalty without a hint of the earlier disdain. "Your Highnesses."

"Oh, come now," Lucy says, as gaily as ever. "You may simply call us by our names."

Peter clearly does not mind this, and Edmund only seems somewhat wary, though Susan doubts he will give trust as easily.

Susan voices her agreement. "You are not a stranger here."

* * *

He is a stranger. He is a stranger to their dances and to their talking animals, and his eyes go wide the first time Mr. Tumnus addresses him directly. But he learns quickly and offers his arm in their service, even develops fast skill with a sword. His body heals, the sling is abandoned, and one night at a dinner in the Great Hall, he even laughs. The shadow lifts for just a moment from his eyes before he glances once more toward the outdoors and whatever it holds for him.

Susan asks him to walk with her afterwards.

He stares at her for a long moment, then nods agreement and walks beside her. There is something charming about the way he smiles at her in that moment.

"You can stay here," she tells him when they have passed beyond the others' ears. "We would be pleased to retain you in our court."

He stares over her head for a moment and breathes, then shakes his head. "There are those who would come after me."

She speaks bluntly with a memory vague but certain. "They do not even realize you have gone."

He turns to her, confusion knitting his brow and causing a frown against his mouth.

She clasps her hands and looks forward, takes another step as she remembers _something_ about Edmund and Lucy and "Time does not move the same here. You will find little, if any, has passed should you ever choose to return."

Then she turns to him with something warm inside her she cannot begin to describe and takes his hands in hers. "Stay with us. Do not return to the place that hurt you so."

He stares at her for a long time before he turns away and begins to walk again. He does not speak, though he opens his mouth for just long enough that she thinks he will, but he only sighs and continues down the long corridor.

His hand is warm on hers though, for he never let it go.

* * *

She takes him on hunts. Anyone would say _they_ take him, for her brothers like him and speak easily to him, and sometimes she catches Edmund and him talking quietly in their own corners before one or the other will notice her approach and her brother excuses himself politely.

It's not that she planned on courting the soldier or being drawn to him, but it soon becomes clear to her that her siblings can tell she is, and the soldier is not at all opposed to her company.

"Should I have let you die?" Susan asks directly one night, determined to lay the question to rest.

He stares at her for but a moment, tense and agitated, but then answers another question altogether, one she left unasked. "They used to call me Bucky."

It makes her hesitate and wonder again at the significance of the name he gave them. "It is a good name," she says, cautiously.

He looks at her for a long moment, then reaches out to touch her cheek, and studies her face as she does it.

She has difficulty catching her breath.

He leans forward and kisses her.

She has been kissed before, she thinks, hazily. Another suitor, more forward than she liked. But this does not seem forward, or at least, she has wanted it long enough that she doesn't care if it is. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and holds him tighter so she can kiss him fiercely back.

* * *

A true lady would not take a man to her bed without marriage first, but Susan knows better to ask him for something she has no reason to believe he'll give. He'll leave her someday if she isn't careful, and he will not tell her he'll stay.

So she takes him to her bed. She kisses him and draws him down in her covers. She discovers how clever his finger are with the fastenings of a woman's dress as he works over the laces and the ties and undoes the hooks on her underclothes and meets her gaze with such heat, she feels like she's on fire just from the look.

He works metal fingers under the cloth and pulls it off slowly, so it slides against her skin and makes her breath come short and harsh. She runs her hands through his hair and pulls him down close to kiss him with all the desire she's feeling, to hold him in her arms and let the weight of his body sink down into her. She wants to feel him, to know he's real and hers, if only for a brief time.

His body is hard and strong. She runs her hands gently over the scars on his chest and stomach and sides as soon as she can get a good look at them. He is beautiful.

"Bucky," she whispers. "Stay."

He shakes his head, he doesn't answer. He pushes her back and sinks between her legs, one hand sliding over her entrance and rubbing gently until she's shaking with want. She splays one hand over his back and uses her other to explore his body and the fine hairs covering well-developed muscle and feel the way their skin has grown damp. She reaches his arousal and his head falls into her shoulder as he groans against her. The sound lights a fire in her veins and she runs her hand over his erection, wanting to hear it again.

He growls and pushes her down, hands gentle on her hips but firm, then he's sliding inside her, and she's gasping, "Wait." He does.

"Susan." He reaches up and brushes the sweat-soaked hair from her eyes and waits until her grip is not so tight on his arm, and she nods.

He rocks into her slowly, every thrust feeling more intense.

She reaches for him again and pulls him closer. He pants then he's fully inside her, and she can't help the whimper that comes out of her throat. He kisses her there, warm against her neck, and begins moving in a rhythm that ignites a need so intense she doesn't know how to handle it.

"Bucky, please." She hold onto him, clings, as he shows her everything she never knew she wanted so desperately much. There's a litany of _more, more, please_ spilling from her lips and filling her mind, crowding everything else until everything crashes over her with an intensity she cannot deny.

She's left shaking and panting against him as he groans and spills inside her.

After a long moment, he kisses her gently against her temple.

She doesn't let go. She holds him tight for one more long moment and pleads, voice soft, heart urgent, "Bucky. Stay."

He pulls back just enough to look at her, to clasp her head in his hands and hold her. Finally, he sighs and answers, "For now, I'll stay."

It isn't enough, but it's a promise she can accept and hold to until she can ever convince of more. She takes it.


End file.
